


17 Ways to Stay Alive

by Taste_of_Suburbia



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Banter, Black Romance, Black and Blue and Bruised All Over, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Knife Wound, Laceration, Mention of abuse, Mutual Pining, Romance, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, h/c_bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-19
Updated: 2014-12-19
Packaged: 2018-03-02 04:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2799107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_of_Suburbia/pseuds/Taste_of_Suburbia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's more than one way to stay alive. Of course, there's plenty of ways to have fun while you're surviving too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	17 Ways to Stay Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [herrlucifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herrlucifer/gifts).



> Written for Black and Blue and Bruised All Over for herrlucifer, based on her poem below. I’ve recently found these two and fell head over heels in love with them, so I hope it’s okay and that you like this. And your poem is really haunting and beautiful by the way. 
> 
> Also a fill for the h/c_bingo wild card prompt ‘lacerations/knife wounds.’

“Once when I was young

I ran right into

my grandma’s menthol cigarette;

I still have the mark to prove it.

 

I think about this

every time

I imagine your lips

on my skin.”

— “I Do Not Think This Is A Good Thing” - Trista Mateer

* * *

 

_One Two Three_

Harley thinks she might have been good once, a long long time ago when she was still too young to officially understand the world yet somehow did, when she had taken everything for granted and paid the price for it, and what she means she took for granted were small, simple things like peace of mind, the absence of pain and the presence of love, and then that one bigger thing: feeling like she was being taken care of. Which she wasn’t.

She knows that now, knows that she did used to be good, used to do what she was told no matter what it was and no matter how much it hurt her in the end.

Being good got her nowhere and gave her nothing.

_Four Five Six_

She’s intelligent and cunning and beautiful, and more than all that realization she wants her life to mean something. Harley realizes she’s always wanted adventure, always wanted to fall in love and go on the run and make her own fun. Blondes always have the most fun, right? Enough of her boring, no good, day-to-day job, she wants to take what she wants and wants to take it _now._ And of course there can’t be anything wrong with that.

Falling in love with the Joker isn’t hard at all, he’s so intriguing and complex and even beautiful in a lot of ways. He’s everything that Harley was looking for but didn’t realize she was looking for at the time. So no, it’s not hard to fall head over heels. But it’s still her mistake. He doesn’t love her.

She’s right back where she started.

_Seven Eight Nine_

Somewhere in the whole mess of her life she remembers Ivy. Beautiful Ivy with her long, flowing red hair and sweet yet poisonous smile. When she breached the barrier of friendship in her mind she has no idea, but to Harley it almost seems that they’re already in a relationship of some sort. I mean, hell, they live together for fuck’s sake, and they spend way too much time together for anything less than romance to seem pretty far fetched.

But yeah, maybe Harley’s just getting her hopes up again.

Still, it’s hard not to every time Ivy throws a nickname her way and pulls her ponytail.

_Ten_

Ivy just might love her.

_Eleven Twelve Thirteen_

The cut isn’t _that_ deep but it still bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. Goddammit, the fucker snagged her just before she could get away. It could be worse, a whole helluva lot worse, but Harley feels like her barriers are down by the time she stumbles into the small apartment she shares with Ivy. She doesn’t know why they don’t just upgrade to a bigger apartment already, they certainly have enough money, but Ivy likes to keep under the radar and Harley relents. That and her greenhouse is immaculately set up, so Ivy doesn’t want to have to pack it all up and redo it or something like that.

“Harley?”

Several minutes pass as she slowly removes the attire of her persona and stumbles into the bathroom. She knows Ivy keeps saying her name over and over, but can’t bring herself to care. Ivy certainly does get obsessive at times, and Harley pretty much steers clear of her at those times, knowing how heated the red-head can become. Getting hurt wasn’t part of the plan, not that she’s even _that_ hurt, but the last thing she needs in her life is a hovering Ivy pleading with Harley to ‘let me see, let me see, let me see,’ before grabbing her arm and attempting to play tug of war with her.

“Harley, what’s wrong?”

And here we go. 

“Jesus, Red. Lay off for a bit, will ya?”

Ivy tsks and shakes her head, her soft, manicured hands reaching for Harley’s uninjured arm so she can turn Harley around to face her. “I will not. You’re late, first of all. Second of all, I know you’re not crazy enough to rush into the bathroom after a night out, worrying about your hair.”

Harley sighed. Ivy was right, of course. Ives would spend hours in front of the mirror, preening herself, making sure nothing was out of place being the perfectionist that she was. Harley had become used to just tying her hair up into a ponytail and leaving the rest of her be unless it was an extra special occasion. She should have locked herself in her bedroom, then Ivy would have thought she just had a terrible night.

“Show me your arm.”

Harley glances up, “What? No way! I’m fine, Ives.” Yet she should have known ages ago that pouting was never really her strong point when faced with Ivy. 

Ivy crosses her arms and leans against the door frame, giving her a pointed look. “Humor me, will you?” She uncrosses her arms and leans forward, and Harley watches her, terrified that all her secrets will come out in one great flood. Living in close quarters means they really have no secrets, none but the internal ones that Harley can hardly face herself let alone share with Ivy. “Is it so wrong that I notice you’re off and want to check up on you? We are friends, right? And friends help each other,” Ivy says matter-of-factly, holding her hand out for Harley to take. “So let me see.”

If Harley doesn’t take her hand, she knows she’ll be screwed. So she does, she does and Ivy pulls her forward, bright eyes examining the wound on her arm. “It’s still bleeding, huh?” Harley nods, speechless, unsure what she would say even if she was able to string a coherent sentence together. 

It’s quiet for a moment as Ivy continues to examine the wound, as Harley stands there under the harsh lights, as she wonders what’s worse: the throbbing pain in her arm or the worried yet determined look on her best friend’s face and what it could mean. Sure, she trusts Red, trusts her to the point of Harley trusting her own often not so carefully thought out decisions. But the apparent queen of green would never purposefully hurt her, right?

Ivy bends down, presses a kiss to Harley’s arm and then licks one long stripe up the injured limb, which entirely covers the laceration, as if she’s coating it in something. It takes about thirty seconds for whatever it is to take effect, but eventually her blood stops sluggishly leaking out of the wound.

Harley’s eyes widen. “How the hell did ya manage to do that?”

“I’ve got a lot of tricks up my sleeve, Harl.” The red-head chuckles, “You should know that by now.”

Harley yanks her arm back and eyes Ivy carefully, noting the stark humor in her eyes. “I’m not gonna start growing another arm, am I?” Harley has seen Ivy do a lot of nifty things before, but she’s never seen her do anything like _that._

“We’ll see,” Ivy drawls, winking at Harley and moving across to her bedroom.

Harley loudly protests after her, “What is that supposed ta mean?”

_Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen_

Ivy is already dressed for bed, pajama pants speckled with little flowers of every color and a long sleeved forest green tee that clings to her curves and doesn’t do much to conceal what’s underneath, specifically that she has no bra on. Harley tries not to stare, doesn’t realize why she is staring considering she’s seen more of Ivy than she’d like to publicly reveal. Yet Ivy’s long red-hair has been thoroughly brushed and her pale pink lips speak of far better uses than of simply being smashed against the nearest pillow in sleep.

Red seems to be leading her on, since the expectant looks she shoots Harley have nothing to do with Ivy urging her to get out. Her arm is no longer throbbing, though there are far more tantalizing thoughts in her mind as she watches Ivy sit at the end of the bed and stare at her. If Harley were in her right mind, she would think that Ivy was waiting for something odd to happen, like her saliva to have adverse side effects on Harley’s skin, despite the fact that the red-head has made her immune to all toxins and poisons so far as Harley knows; or maybe for vines to start growing out of her arm or something.

Yet Harley isn’t quite in her right mind, and all she seems to think about is the small spark of fire Ivy’s tongue caused as it licked over her arm. She wonders if her kisses felt like that too. She thinks back to the cigarette burns on her back and thighs, remembers the sharp pain as a sort of betrayal. Ivy is quite capable of betraying her, but will she go through with it and how?

“That’s the fourth time in a month you’ve come home with bruises. Except this time it was worse than that. You could have lost your arm.”

“It wasn’t _that_ bad,” Harley argues. “And what can I say? I bruise easily,” she shrugs. Not exactly the truth, yet for some reason her life has always led her to pain, both physical and emotional. Whether it be words of loathing, lacerations or burn marks, Harley is a stranger to no form of pain or betrayal.

But Red’s her best friend, the one she argues with and the one who pulls her hair when she wants her attention, the one she always tries to outdo because she knows how smart and clever Ivy is and furthermore that she will never top her with her own muddled brain. Still, it can be fun to try. And this looks like more fun right here. And who is Harley Quinn to refuse any fun?

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Most of her hair has fallen out of her ponytail, and Harley curls the loose strands around her finger as she walks closer to the bed. If Ivy wants what Harley thinks she wants then she’s never shown it before, though she realizes it would be totally like Red to be attracted to her the one time she shows up back at the apartment bleeding. If Harley had known that blood could be such a turn-on, she would’ve tried this a helluva lot earlier, that’s for sure.

“Don’t you want to have some fun with me, Harl?” Ivy smirks, one leg crossing over the other.

 “Course I do,” Harley beams. “I just didn’t think you meant _this_ kind of fun.”

She playfully walks up to Ivy, watching her lips purse and Harley licks her lips in anticipation. She’s always known that Ivy was ridiculously attractive, Harley just never knew that she was attracted to her. She never really thought Ivy could ever be attracted to her either. They have a pretty great friendship going, and Harley knows without a doubt that making that into something more will fuck everything up. Moreover, she doesn’t really care at this point.

As soon as they’re within arm’s reach, Ivy leans forward and grabs Harley’s hand, pulling her down onto the bed with her. Ivy lies flat on her back, shirt clinging to her skin, enough of her bared to Harley without a moment’s doubt from the red-head. Ivy’s lips are parted now as she smiles up at Harley, as she stretches languidly as if Harley has never noticed her before.

In some ways she hasn’t.

“Are you going to stare all night?”

Harley responds to the teasing immediately, hands clenching and then releasing as they prepare to tear off Ivy’s shirt. Ivy’s too quick though, she pulls herself upright and flips Harley over so that she lies under her powerful thighs, breathing in her sweet, perfumy scent. Harley merely smirks up at her, enjoying the view even more.

Ivy’s gaze travels downward. “It’ll leave a scar, you know. I won’t be able to get rid of that.”

She can feel her arm throbbing again, though Harley suspects it’s the memory more than anything else. The cut had been deep, yet Red’s gaze even deeper. So deep as if she was meant to fall all along. But Red’s not getting one over on her yet. The words come to her lips unbidden; she never has trouble speaking her mind in front of Ivy. “What’s one more scar to add to the list?”

“You trying to outdo me, Harl?” Harley grasps at Ivy’s waist, as if anchoring herself to the moment, and Ivy doesn’t remove her hands, her sharp eyes cutting Harley deep and leaving her bleeding out all over the bed.

Before another somewhat coherent thought can come to mind, Ivy’s lips are on her own and they are bruising, they offer Harley no amount of oxygen and even less space. She feels like she’s gulping for breath underwater, and if she closes her eyes she can feel the scorching heat of fire, the burns on the backs of her legs, the drawn out spark of pain on her hip, the repeated burns on the flesh of her toes. Her toes curl in memory and she squirms on the bed, red hair brushing against her face feeling like flames licking her skin. Ivy isn’t letting up but Harley doesn’t care.

It’s just another way for her to stay alive.

“I could kill you with a single kiss. How does that feel?”

“How would it feel if I shoved my knee against your throat?” The pain has left her throat raw and Ivy smiles sweetly down at her. It’s the promise of pain and the promise of being here, of it just being the two of them, alive and broken, refusing to be whole.

And Harley hates the way she makes her feel, hates Ivy’s plush pink lips on her skin that reek of poison and promises. And Harley loves the way Ivy brings Harley’s hair together in one gentle swoop, brushing it up into its familiar ponytail, mouth on her heated skin making her feel small and safe and tucked away.

_Seventeen_

It’s a love-hate relationship, what else can Harley say?

**FIN**


End file.
